Children of the Gods
by Oh the Lovely Stars
Summary: Charlotte spent her life tucked away in a small city in upstate New York. She lead what felt like a perfectly plain life until, pardon my cliche, a dark stranger shows her the secrets of a world she had long forgotten. Loki/OC
1. Chapter 1

"Hush, you'll wake her," a tender voice whispered.

"Not many would make such demands to the All Father," chuckled another softly.

Two companions stood on the bank of a clear spring deep in the forest. The first, a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with golden hair riddled with wildflowers held a small bundle close to her breast. The second was an imposing figure, clad in the dress of a war hero. Heavy lines of age and weariness covered his face, but seemed to soften as he gazed upon the mess of wrappings in the woman's arms.

"Isn't she beautiful?" the woman cooed, readjusting the blanket she held to reveal a small baby. She lovingly stroked the child's rosy cheek and smiled.

"Yes… But surely, Freya, you know you cannot bring such a creature into Asgard," said the other gently but firmly. "A child of the fairy folk has no place in our world."

Freya turned to face Odin, the man who had accompanied her to Midgard. On most days, she glowed with the radiant elegance of a summer morning. But the light that usually embraced her faded at his words. She briefly met his gaze, then turned back to the sleeping baby in her arms. Its chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of a deep sleep. "I have been so lonely in my husband's absence," she began softly, not taking her eyes off of the baby. "I have seen him scarcely since the great battle with Jotunheim." Odin looked just past her at the spring. He stared into its waters and thought deeply about the consequences of allowing a being of another realm into the great halls of the gods. Before he could speak, Freya continued. "I know what she is. I know a huldra of elvish blood is not one of our people." She looked at him with bright eyes so piercing he could not help but meet them. "But I know you have taken in others out of the kindness of your heart." Of course, she referred to Odin's youngest son, Loki, who he had taken from the aftermath of war. Her words struck him to his core.

"Freya, my dear friend, the circumstances-"

"Make no difference. I have known you for many ages, and I know that he is more to you than a peace treaty. You love him as dearly as you love Thor. Why will you not allow me the chance to give this innocent child my love?"

Odin thought of Loki... of his son. But he knew what the baby that Freya held so dearly was. "She is of huldra birth! You know how dangerous those sirens can be! They shamelessly ensnare innocent forest wanderers and lead them to their deaths! And the elvish half? What are they but tree walking jesters?"

"You know of Loki's birth. You more than any know of the cruelty of the frost giants!" she growled with the fierceness of a mother bear. She was a patron of these 'sirens and jesters' and did not take kindly to his words. She pointedly looked at the golden patch covering what used to be an eye. "And now look at him! He has grown into a sweet, albeit mischievous, young boy. Truly a prince among men. How can you not allow her that same chance at greatness?" Her words shot out like venom. Odin was shocked. The whole time he had known her, her demeanor had been nothing but warm and motherly. He looked into her eyes. With her husband gone and her children grown, he could see the cold flickering of deep loneliness in her gaze.

Whether it was the thought of his youngest boy, or the humbling marvel of the forest meadow they stood in, he did not know what softened his war torn old heart. "I must be growing soft with old age," he sighed. "Take her to your home, before I change my mind." Freya's face lit up with such glorious beauty that in that moment, the sun would have grown dim and cold with envy. The flowers at their feet burst with life and the sagging branches of the ancient trees around them suddenly lifted with new life. Birds sang more loudly as the faint blue of morning sky crept overhead. Her joyful radiance made the whole forest feel new.

"I cannot express to you in words what you have done for me," she beamed. The baby girl in her arms began to stir. A small hand reached up to rub her eyes. They opened to reveal blue orbs with centers reminiscent of new winter frost, fading into a blue deeper than the ocean at her iris's outskirts. They were brilliantly bright with a strange light behind them. Odin could see the kind hearted mischief of elven laughter resonating in her eyes. They were unlike anything he had ever seen.

"She really is beautiful," he said in a soft voice. She reached out for him. He let her grab one of his fingers, and a smile played on her small lips. Her other hand reached for Freya's long, gleaming hair. A ghost of a smile came across Odin's face. He could already feel himself developing a grandfatherly fondness for the child. "What will you call her?"

Freya closed her eyes and listened. Although the birds sang loudly, and the wind blew with great power, the sound of the spring behind them babbled unmistakably. She glanced at its waters' ethereal beauty. It seemed so out of place in this common forest, too spectacular for such ordinary surroundings. She immediately looked at the child she held, knowing the two had much in common. "Kelda," she cooed, saying 'spring' in the tongue of old. "Her name is Kelda." She bowed to Odin, king of the gods, and disappeared in a swirl of golden dust.

Odin sat wearily on a near by rock and took in the sights, sounds, and smells of the morning. After hours of time in the mortal realm, mere moments for the All Father, he too vanished in a cyclone of wind.

* * *

Charlotte awoke violently, shooting straight up in bed. She clung desperately to her deep blue sheets. Her knuckles had gone white. Her heart was pounding, feeling like a bird desperate to be free of her chest. The dreams were still happening. For the last two weeks of her life, Charlotte Ericson had been haunted by her subconscious. Every night she would find herself waking up with a cool, icy chill in the pit of her stomach because of these dreams. She dreamt of vivid golden halls that stretched for miles, a sky of stars so bright you could see all of the cosmos for miles around, a bridge of light that refracted beautiful colors in its depths. And with every dream, she would wake with a horrible feeling that her life was not real. That this dream land was reality. Then, the cold claw of reality would dig itself into her very core.

Sleepily, she walked into her bathroom and splashed her face with water. Her long, impossibly thick and shining dark hair was loosely pulled off of her face in a braid. She stared at her reflection. She was incredibly fair skinned with ever so slightly pink cheeks. She had delicate, bow shaped lips and a thin slip of a nose. She had altogether subtle features, except for her eyes. They shone with an almost inhuman brilliance. They were large and framed with dark lashes that only accentuated the way light played off of them. Their edges made the even the most shockingly blue summer sky look gray, but the centers faded into a blue so pale they were almost white. She was undeniably beautiful, but there was something about her that was not quite right.

She did not belong. More so than someone who was just eccentric or shied away from others. There was something about her that no one could place. Her whole life she had kept a few friends, but no one very close to her. She learned to accept, even welcome, that she was better off by herself.

She walked back into her bedroom. She had a large bed covered blue sheets and a thick down comforter. Jewel toned throw pillows littered her bed. Her walls were painted a deep red and large star shaped lights of all different colors were hung all around. Christmas lights were strung every which way across her ceiling. For reasons unknown, she felt much more comfortable under the subtle glow of her artificial stars. She flopped onto the bed and started picking at a loose string on her pajama shorts. She looked at her alarm clock. 5:30. It was late January, and the sun would be coming up in about an hour. Deciding that going back to sleep would be pointless considering she had to go to work in a couple hours, Charlotte began getting ready for her day.

She stepped into the shower and let the steam and the smell of her lavender shampoo fill the air.

_I don't know how many more of these dreams I can take_... she thought, letting the water plink softly off of the glass shower doors. She still couldn't shake the feeling that she was in a dream now and this fantasy place she had concocted was where she should be. Sighing deeply, she finished cleaning herself and got out, wrapping herself in a fluffy purple towel. She dried off and slipped into a pair of black skinny jeans, a white v-neck, and a pink and gray striped cardigan. After stuffing her feet into a pair of thick, wool socks, she shuffled over to a small desk with a mirror on top. She sat in the chair in front of it, and began brushing out her hair. It was beginning to dry, and fell in large waves around her shoulders and her back. The sun was beginning to rise. She put on a quick coat of mascara and, realizing that going out into a New York winter with wet hair was a great way to catch a terrible cold, blow dried her hair the rest of the way. She slipped into a big, red pea-coat and shoved on a pair of calf height black boots. She wrapped a gray scarf around her neck a headed out.

The skies were clear and gray. A thick layer of snow covered her yard and driveway. She lived a few hours away from New York City on the outskirts of a small city called Angelica. It was mostly a collection of antique stores with a small park in the center. It was quiet and out of the way. Everyone knew everyone and change was rare. Even the buildings had been kept the same for as long as anyone could recall. Her home was small and settled on a big chunk of land surrounded by forest. Very slowly and tiredly, she walked down her house's front steps, started her green station wagon, and turned on the defrosters. A thick layer of snow and ice clouded her wind shield.

_Great. Window scraping. Best part of my day,_ she thought as she half-heartedly dragged her plastic window scrapper across the car. After a solid 20 minutes, her car was safe to drive. She sat in her now fairly warm car and started the bumpy descent down her driveway. The combination of gravel, snow, ice, and the thick chains on her tires made the whole experience rather unpleasant. It took about 25 minutes to reach the heart of the small city, 10 minutes longer than it would have if not for the road conditions. There was one snow plow for the entirety of the town, meaning anyone outside of the immediate heart of the city was left to find their own way through the snow. Parking in front of the one coffee shop, _The Dancing Java_, she hurried into the pale colored colonial style building.

"Good morning, sweet heart," came the sing songy voice of the owner, Mrs. Grahm. She was a stout, gray haired, chubby faced older woman who looked like the world's most stereotypical vision of a grandmother. Each morning without fail, she filled the shop's small display case with her own freshly baked muffins, cookies, and pastries. Her nephew, Carl, was the barista and cashier. He too was short, but incredibly thin and not a day over 20. He had a mop of curly blond hair and a mess of freckles covered up by glasses about two sizes too big for his head.

"Morning, Char," he chimed in with the awkward cadence of someone just on the tail end of puberty.

Charlotte flashed a genuine smile at the two of them. She liked them both very much for their sunny dispositions and always kind hearted morning welcomes (it also didn't hurt that she always got her morning cinnamon roll for free). "Good morning!" Her mood was beginning to take a turn for the better.

"The usual?" Carl inquired, shyly returning her smile.

"Sure... but could you add an extra shot?" Nearly every morning for the almost year she had lived here, she had come to this shop and ordered a coffee with two creams, two sugars, and one shot of espresso.

"Another rough night?" Mrs. Grahm asked as she began putting a cinnamon roll into a paper bag for her.

"Yeah, another bad dream."

"That's got to be the 10th time in the last two weeks at least!" Carl added while he stirred sugar into her coffee, popping on the lid and slipping it into a heat protection sleeve.

"I know, it's driving me crazy." Charlotte took her coffee in hand and put the pastry in her purse. She began to take out her wallet when Mrs. Grahm stopped her.

"Oh, not today, honey bee," she happily. "I can tell it's been a hard few days. This one is on me."

"Oh no, you don't have to-"

"I insist." Charlotte smiled gratefully. "Now hurry on over to work or Russell will bite your head off!"

She laughed and called "Thank you!" as she hopped back into her car and drove to the tiny bookstore she worked at. She walked in right as the clock hit 7:45. Right on time. She began peeling off her wintery layers and hanging them on an old, wooden coat rack.

"Morning, Russell," she called, directing her greeting to a tall man sitting in an office at the back of the store. He grunted in acknowledgement and continued clacking away on his keyboard. She smiled to herself. He was her manager and was not a man of many words. Most people thought he was rude and, quite frankly, an unpleasant person to be around. But she had a strange affection for the gruff man. He had given her a job when she was brand new to this city and had, in his own way, done his best to be welcoming. She was also thankful that while she was at work, so wasn't forced to make small talk with him for the almost 9 hours of her work day. The store had two tiny floors stacked on top of each other. The ground floor was painted white and had shoulder height white book cases full of the stores newest releases and some of the text books needed at the closest college. A couple magazine racks stood next to the counter. A small selection of bookmarks, candy, and stuffed animals littered a long table beside the door to give the kids that came in something to beg their parents for. A few posters hung on the wall with pictures of Harry Potter characters to entice younger customers to pick through the shelf of children's books. In a small room with a glass window facing the shop sat Russell, tucked neatly under the stairs so that he could keep an eye on his store. The second floor was where Charlotte spent most of her time after the store's second and only other employee showed up to work the counter. The second floor was darker, its walls were not as freshly painted, and bookshelves that almost reached the ceiling crowded the room. This is where the older or less popular books were kept. There were two leather armchairs by the upper floor's only window. Charlotte sat behind the downstairs counter, and watched the clock. Jacob, the other employee, was schedules to come in at 10:00. And once he did, she could slip upstairs and keep to herself. She loved being immersed in the sea of old books. She spent a lot of her time reading in the arm chairs and enjoying the smell of age the books gave off.

The store was deserted all morning. To entertain herself, Charlotte flipped through a month old _Cosmopolitan_ while she sipper her coffee and ate her cinnamon roll. Because their business was never exactly booming, they were generally a month or so behind when it came to getting their new material. To be honest, she could have cared less about the _50 Ways to Up the Ante on Your Sex Life!_ article she was reading lazily. In fact, it disgusted her that this magazine made out the life of a woman to be nothing but new makeup trends and sleazy sex moves. But she had a strange fascination with it. She never did quite understand things that were trendy. It never made sense to her why buying $50 blush that would just be out of style next month would appeal to anyone. Reading this December issue of _Cosmo_ was almost like a study in human behavior for her.

By the time 9:30 rolled around, she had read most of _Cosmopolitan, Us Weekly,_ and about half of _Elle_ when the little bell above the door tinkled. She looked up to see a tall, thin, striking man standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a charcoal suit and a warm black jacket. A dark green scarf was wrapped around his neck and he wore a pair of black leather gloves. His face was ghostly pale which was only exaggerated by his jet black hair. He had a sharply angular face that looked to be designed by a master marble sculptor from another time. Two bright green eyes peeked out from deeply set sockets. Upon seeing him, Charlotte lost all interest in her magazine. She closed at on stuck it back in the magazine rack. His eyes darted over to her and widened like he was seeing a ghost.

"Good morning," she squeaked, momentarily overpowered by his stare. He didn't respond, he just continued to give her the wide eyed look. "How can I help you?" she said, this time in an even tone.

After a moment, he took a step toward her. He must have been well over 6 feet tall. He towered over her. "Kelda?" he breathed in a shocked voice.

Charlotte couldn't tell if it was a question or a statement. Either way she had no idea what he was talking about. "I'm sorry?"

"Is it really you?" He took another step.

"Oh... Um... You must have me mistaken for someone else."

The man furrowed his brow. He bore straight into her big blue eyes as if he were searching for something lost in them. After what felt like hours, he shook his head ever so slightly and glanced away. "My apologies, I thought you were... an old friend."

"No problem," she said dreamily. His stare, to an outsider, would have felt awkward. But she was strangely drawn to the man so it didn't bother her in the slightest. There was something about his demeanor that seemed familiar. She continued to look at him starry eyed for quite some time before she remembered she was at work. _You're not getting paid to make eyes at attractive men_, she thought. She collected herself and again asked, "What can I do for you?"

Looking back at her, he kept perfect eye contact as he responded. "Would you be so kind as to direct me to your less... recent publications."

She wasn't at all used to hearing people speak with such smooth eloquence. "Yeah, sure, right up those stairs." She felt like a babbling child. His voice was so silky. He spoke so clearly without sounding rehearsed. The way he formed every syllable was a small work of art. He subtly bowed his head, taking long, easy strides toward the stairs. Feeling rather flustered by the interaction, Charlotte leaned her back against the wall behind the counter.

_What the hell was that?_ she asked herself. _Since when do you turn into a deer caught in the head lights when a handsome man walks_ _by_? He was handsome. Inhumanly so. But she had seen plenty of cute boys from the near by college wander in to get books. Why was he so different. _Maybe because he isn't an inarticulate frat boy who just stands there and uses horrendous pick up lines on you._ She pushed her hair out of her face and sat back down on the wooden stool behind the cash register. She readjusted her cardigan and decided that when he came back down, she wouldn't act like a babbling schoolgirl. _For god's sake you're almost 26. Compose yourself._ Right as she resolved to not stare at him with overly widened eyes, she heard him coming back down the stairs. Her stomach fluttered. _What the hell is wrong with you! Calm yourself! You don't even know_ _him._ She closed her eyes and inhaled. When she reopened them, he was standing patiently in front of a huge, dusty old book that he had placed on the counter. Refusing to make eye contact, she picked up the book.

_Just don't look at him._ "_The Lost Tales of the Norse_," she read aloud from the book's cover. It was written in delicate, golden scripture. The book was bound in aged, brown leather. What looked like Celtic knots decorated the edges. Its pages were yellowing and crinkled. The book had been there much much longer than she had. She'd seen it on the one small shelf in the back of the upstairs devoted to antique books. "An interesting choice." She still refused to look at him. He chuckled. She turned the book over, looking for a price sticker that was generally on the lower left corner of the back cover. There was none. "Excuse me a moment."

She knocked on the door frame of Russell's office. "What," he grunted, not looking up.

"This book doesn't have a price tag. How much for it?"

He glanced up, obviously not really paying attention. Taking only a few seconds to consider her question, he said "I thought that old thing would never sell. $30."

"Thanks, Russ," she said in purposefully too cheery voice. She knew it bothered him. He shot her an exasperated glare. She did her best to conceal a smirk.

She returned to the counter, still not looking at the man's face. He stood with impeccable posture, his gloved hands folded behind his back. "That'll be $30, please," she said, sitting back on the stool.

He pulled out what looked like a coin purse. _Who carries one of those anymore?_ He leafed through a stack of bills, concentrating, clearly not used to using American money. _Guess he isn't from around here_, she mused as he finally pulled out the correct amount of money. She stuck it in the cash register and began writing a receipt. Yes, the town of Angelica is so out of the way that the entirety of the city hand wrote their receipts. Ripping it off of the pad, she handed it to him. Forgetting her decision to not look directly at him for fear of coming off as star struck and silly, she locked onto his emerald eyes.

"Thank you," he said, his gaze lingering on her as he started to pick up his book.

"H-have a nice day," she finally spit out as he began to leave. She watched him walk away through the store's front window. She continued to stare as the bell rang again, not caring to see who it was. All she cared about was hoping the man would come back so she could watch him. _Wow that is excessively creepy._ _Even for you, Charlotte._

"Good morning!" The overly excited greeting snapped her back to real life and made her jump. It was Jacob.

"Hi," she responded, still sort of dazed.

"Everything okay?"

"Oh yes. Just fine and dandy."


	2. Chapter 2

Freya's daughter was now fast approaching the end of childhood. Her round face was beginning to show the signs of becoming thinner and longer like that of one which is fully mature. While most spent this period with awkwardly long and lanky limbs or with feet too big for their bodies, Kelda retained her graceful appearance. She sat in a golden chair as her mother stood behind her and brushed out her long hair.

"My dear child," she cooed. "How much you have grown." Kelda grinned. She longed for adulthood. To be like her mother who she so admired. Freya set the brush down and put her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Before I know it, you'll be a woman." She smiled tenderly, but there was sadness in her eyes. Since she had taken the child from the Earth and raised her as her own, her life was filled with a light that had been missing for thousands of years. She circled around the chair, stopping to kneel in front of the child. She examined her face, and was filled with a mix of sorrow and pride. She knew this would be one of the last times she would look this way: round, pink cheeks and eyes widened with an excitement only found in children. Although a part of her wished to keep her young forever, she knew that seeing her grow into an intelligent, beautiful, well-rounded adult would be worth much more to her. "You're my little ray of moon light," she said in a soft voice.

Anyone would looked at Kelda would know that this name suited her perfectly. Her skin was pale and glowed with a soft radiance. Some of the inhabitants of Asgard were as fair skinned, but not like she was. Everyone seemed to give off a sunny glow, not one as muted and hauntingly cool as her's. The older she got, the more elvish she appeared. Her hair had the rich darkness found only in the deepest forests. The rosy tint of her cheeks and lips were like the petals of freshly bloomed flowers in spring. Her eyes danced and captured the attention of even the most aloof resident of the godly city like the waters of the clearest pools. She was like a small, walking breath of the nature on Midgard. Still, none but her mother and Odin knew why she exuded such qualities.

"Are we going to see Loki and Thor today?" she asked, her child's voice floating in the air like a fluffy cloud.

"Yes, my sweet," Freya said, smiling at how excited she sounded. She loved seeing her daughter with other children, especially with the two young princes of Asgard who she knew were good company. Kelda spend much of their time in Freya's hall. Freya was the overseer of the Valkyries, and such a job required much of her time. Kelda didn't mind for the most part. She was content to wander the great halls, entertaining herself. The Valkyries adored her, and many would spend their time brushing her hair, or helping her tend to the horses, or simply taking a few moments of their time to talk to her. She was never left wanting for attention (which she rarely would have desired, she tended to keep to herself). She wasn't, however, spoiled in the slightest like most children in her position would be. Freya would have given her the world if she asked for it. But she did not ask. There was something about her that other children, or anyone for that matter, did not have. A temperament that was certainly not common among that entitled, superior beings that inhabited Asgard. She was content with what was given to her. This made her seem much older and wiser than she would appear. "Come along, let's get you dressed."

Freya lead Kelda across the room to a beautifully carved dresser. Sprigs of wildflowers and the faces of imps and fairies decorated its wooden surface. She opened the top, which was a chest, and pulled out a simple, long, rosy golden hued dress. Small metallic leaves were strung along the collar. Their warm colors only made her cool coloring more exaggerated. Freya pulled top sections of her hair into intricate braids and pinned them with a bronze, leaf shaped clip.

"I have a present for you," Freya said, beaming. Today was important, that anniversary of the day she found Kelda deep in the woods of Earth.

Kelda's face lit up. "What is it?"

In a small flurry of gold, a trinket appeared in Freya's hands. A teardrop shaped amber stone surrounded by swirls of gold made a ring. "This is for you." She slid it onto a silvery chain and strung it around the girl's neck. It was much too big for her tiny fingers, so she wore it on a necklace. "Do you like it?"

Kelda examined the petite ring for a moment before she answered. "I love it!" she chimed.

Freya smiled. "Shall we?" she asked, extending her hand. Kelda grasped it, her hand dwarfed by her mothers. They walked hand in hand to Freya's chariot. It was golden and decorated with the carvings of ancient trees and ferns. It was drawn by two almost horse-sized wild cats. They were twin brothers. Their fur was was a stormy, gray blue color. They had eyes darker than the night sky that were trained on Kelda. While Freya began hitching them up, Kelda stroked their muzzles gently. The purred and rubbed their large heads against her arms. These beasts did not generally take kindly to anyone but the mother and child. "Are we ready?"

Kelda grinned and hopped up into the chariot, grasping the front for support.

The ride was not a long one, but it felt like centuries for Kelda. She was a little younger than the brothers, and like the younger children often do, she idolized them and stuck to them like glue. Thor had always seemed slightly off put by having a little girl follow him everywhere. He was never spiteful, but he did on some occasions become entirely fed up with her presence. Loki, the smaller and gentler of the brothers, found her fascinating. He was much more perceptive than his older sibling and could tell there was something different about her. The way she moved and spoke and looked set her apart, and he found it terribly interesting.

When they arrived, Kelda went flying out and down the great hall that lead to Odin's throne room. Towering statues that seemed a mile high each (10 to someone as small as she was) glinted in the light of the day. Freya laughed and took long strides to keep up with her. They were expected and the doors to the room were open. Slowing her pace as she entered, Kelda walked into the gigantic hall. Odin was not on his throne by his wife, Frigga, where he usually sat. He was staring out of one of the windows with his hands behind his back and a grave expression. When he heard her whispering footsteps, he turned to face her. He smiled, but there was still something lingering in his one eye. She bowed to him as a greeting.

"No no, none of that, my child," he said, pulling her into a hug. She grinned and squeezed him tightly. "And how is the Lady Kelda on this lovely day?"

"Absolutely wonderful, my king," she said. She addressed him as king the way most would address a friend. She had been brought up with Odin and his family as close friends. The bond between Odin and Freya ran too deeply for things to be any other way.

"And good day to the Lady Freya," he said as she stepped up beside Kelda. Freya smiled at first, but she saw what was in Odin's face. Something was amiss.

"And to you!" she replied, expertly disguising the concern in her voice.

"What a lovely ring you have on your necklace," Odin said, changing the subject to keep Kelda unaware of the sudden tension. "A present for today's occasion I assume?" He of course remembered well the day she was brought to Asgard. Kelda nodded. "I believe my wife has something for you as well, why don't you run along and find her? I'm sure my sons are somewhere nearby as well." Kelda beamed and pranced away.

Freya and Odin's false smiles faded and they watched her skip away and out of earshot.

"My Lady... My friend," began Odin in a troubled tone.

"All Father, you know that I need not your cushioning words to soften any blow. Has something happened?" Freya asked, wanting desperately to know what troubled him so. It was a rare occasion that Odin showed such signs of worry.

He nodded, his face now hardened into a look of concern. "I fear for the safety of Kelda."

* * *

With his scarf hanging loosely and his book tucked into his jacket, Loki breezed down the small streets on Angelica with unnatural grace and swiftness. His mouth was drawn tightly and his eyes were fixed in front of him, obviously lost in thought. He headed out of the tiny city and towards the woods some few miles away.

_That could not have been her_, he thought, thinking about the young woman in the bookstore. _That would be impossible. She has been lost to our world for far too long. And what business would she have on Midgard? A wretched place. Posing as a wretched human. But those eyes..._

Though he could think of no logical explanation for her being on Earth, there was no mistaking her eyes. Never had he seen such a captivating gradient of bright blue in the face of any creature. The silky, deep brown hair, the features akin to the subtle beauty found only in nature's most delicate blossoms, the flesh whose pallor was only comparable to a bright, full moon, all were signs that it was her. But above all else, he knew those eyes.

The alien prince who had fallen from grace had landed in the icy wood of the forest near Angelica. Weak and badly hurt, Loki had used the last of his magic to slip into the faint shadow of the trees. There he had waited for days, regaining his strength and his sorcery. He had finally pulled himself together enough to take his natural form. He had no desire to dwell in this realm longer than necessary. He had the ancient text that had been thought lost, and once his full power was restored, he would be able to leave this hellish excuse for a planet. Or so had planned. But finding her was far from what he had expected. As he approached the heart of the forest, he slithered back into the shadows of a large pine tree. A deathly cold wind began to pick up. It didn't bother him. The cold never had. And now that he knew why, he resented his body's indifference to this bone numbing chill in the air.

His mind began to wander as he considered what finding the lost daughter of Asgard would mean. He thought how easy it would be to use her safe return at his hand as a vehicle for redemption.

_Their simple minds would welcome me back with open arms,_ he mused. _And then who would expect it when I would strike and take the power I so_ deserved?_ They would all see who is truly the more kingly brother, _he thought bitterly. All he had wanted was the be seen with the favor that was bestowed upon his brother. Not to be pushed aside and left in his shadow. He smirked at the irony that he now was forced to cling to the shadow of trees for his power to be restored.

As he toyed with this idea, he was overcome by a wave of sadness.

"The princess of Asgard," the people had called Kelda. He was soon lost in a sea of memories.

"How beautiful she would look as the Queen on Thor's arm!" the respected ladies of the court would titter.

"Like she deserves him," jealous young maidens would sneer. "She's so strange. She is not worthy of such a prince!"

Loki could hear them all talking of his elder brother and Freya's daughter. They were, at the time, no longer children and not yet adults. Rumors of who the future king would take as his wife were a popular topic. And Loki despised all mention of it. He would watch in vain jealousy as Kelda and Thor laughed and talked. As children, he recalled, Thor could have cared less about the girl. But now that she had matured, he suddenly found her absolutely engrossing. She was small in stature compared to the others. Under her fine dresses her lean frame could be seen. Her body curved in the dramatic swoops of womanhood. She wore her luxurious hair down to the middle of her back. She stood out among the people of Asgard. They were tall and statuesque, like sculptures plated in gold and bronze. And there she was, at least half a head shorter than even the smallest of the court's ladies, with rich, dark brown hair and alabaster skin. Even from a distance, he could see her big eyes glinting dramatically as evening light shone in them.

It was an old memory. One that stung him deeply. For what was he compared to the lordly Thor?

He could not hear what had been said, but she laughed loudly. It was a sound that would light up even the darkest of places. A laugh that lingered in rooms long after the chiming sound had faded.

A few of the young women stared daggers at her.

"She is so improper!" one growled to another.

"How uncouth!" her companion agreed.

The older women only smiled at the two.

"I do believe I see a budding romance!"

Loki's heart sank as he remembered those words.

Angry about letting himself stray into a memory so trivial, he locked it back up and thought of other things. Of dark plans for revenge on his "brother" and "father", only made worse by the seething, jealous hatred in that thought.

_Everything_, his mind roared. _He hath bested me in everything! Well no more. Never again will that oaf be seen as superior. Soon they will all recognize me as their true king. In time._

* * *

It had been almost a week since the handsome stranger had come into the bookstore. The dreams had become noticeably more vivid since then, and made staying awake a hassle. She barely had the energy for it, but for the entirety of the almost week he hadn't come back, Charlotte stayed on the downstairs floor. If he did come back, she didn't want to be barricaded upstairs in a mountain of old books. However, spending so much time on the main floor reminded her why she hated it so much in the first place.

"So did you see the news last night?" Jacob, her one and only coworker asked.

"No, Jacob," she sighed, not looking up from the book she had taken from the top floor to read. He talked nonstop all day everyday. Hence the appeal of the second floor.

"Oh! Well there was this really great story about..."

She stopped listening. She didn't want to seem completely rude, so she looked up from the copy of _Of Mice and Men_ and tried to maintain an interested expression while she tuned him out. Jacob just continued to babble about nothing, either not noticing or not caring that she was paying no attention. When they had first met, Charlotte found his company enjoyable. Sure, he talked a lot, but he was friendly. She hadn't known anyone else really in Angelica, and she would take whatever acquaintanceship she could get. Now she just found him annoying, but it was not in her nature to be rude and tell him. So, for the almost year she had worked at the shop, she put up with it, keeping a polite smile the whole way through. While he talked, she stared blankly at his mouth, which seemed to be moving at roughly the speed of a hummingbird's wings. His mouth was a little too big for his face and he had large, white teeth that only drew more attention to his constant talking. He also shoved his curly hair out of his face constantly, just so it could fall right back where it had been in the first place.

_Why is it exactly that I'm not paying attention to what he's saying? _she asked herself. _Why is it that whenever someone tries to be nice to you, you just find stupid excuses to not like them. He's someone who actually _wants _to spend time with you._

He still chattered away, completely oblivious to her lack of interest. As she was about to make up some bullshit excuse to hide away upstairs, the doorbell chimed. Jumping up at the reason to get out of the conversation, she walked toward the front of the store from the bookcase she had been hiding behind.

"Good afternoon," she began, looking up to see who exactly it was she was greeting. She froze for a moment when she saw the man who had bought that old, musty book. Today he wore a gray, herringbone suit with a black shirt and tie. He wore the same black jacket, this time unbuttoned, and the same leather gloves. His hair was slicked back from his cold face. Suddenly feeling under dressed in her thick wool tights and short skirted sweater dress, she blushed and looked at his shoes. They were black and perfectly shined, not a trace of a scuff mark. She glanced at her old boots and made a face.

"Hello, again," he said smoothly, smirking at her flushed cheeks. That only made her face turn a deeper shade of pink which she was now painfully aware of. She was normally level headed and blushed next to never. But something about him was getting under her skin. She didn't know why and it nagged at her. She gritted her teeth a little, bothered that she had an issue with being her usual articulate self.

"Hello..." she trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

He was quite pleased with himself that he left her so flustered, and she could tell. The only made the fact that she was floundering to make conversation more aggravating. She had no idea why she was so anxious for him to come back. She hadn't thought of anything to say. She didn't even know him! All she knew was that she was borderline desperate to see him again.

Jacob, watching the exchange, came over and stood just behind Charlotte, crossing his arms. "What can we do for you?"

There was a flicker of seething envy behind his dark eyes. The stranger snorted at how defensive he was getting. Charlotte had to stifle a laugh. She was painfully unsuccessful. A squeak came out that she tried to pass off as a hiccup. His attempt at manliness was failing miserably. He looked like a puppy trying to heroically step in and fend off an intruder.

"I merely came to browse," he retorted, not missing a beat. His voice was sickly sweet and made Jacob's skin crawl. The man turned to Charlotte. "Might I ask for your assistance? There seems to be quit a lot of shelves upstairs and I wouldn't want to damage anything." He smiled at her, making her heart jump into her throat.

"Yeah... Of course." She sounded disoriented. She was in no way expecting him to want to be alone with her. Jacob stood there, glaring at the two of them as the man glided up the stairs behind her.

Along with the towering bookcases that loomed all around the second floor, boxes of books that hadn't been touched in what looked like decades were shoved toward to back in an attempt to hide their disheveled appearance from the customers.

"Looking for anything in particular?" she asked, trying not to stammer and she started piling books out of the boxes to get a better look at them.

"I can't say that I am, no."

"Just really into old books?"

_And there I go again, sounding like I have the vocabulary of a 12 year old._

He smiled again. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

Gently, the two of them started picking through the stacks they had made of novels, dictionaries, encyclopedias, history texts and children's stories that hadn't been in print for at least 60 years, some even longer.

"So... I don't think I've seen you around here before," she began in an attempt to make conversation. "I'm guessing you're new in town? I'm pretty sure I would have remembered meeting someone like you." It took her a second to realize she really did say that out loud, and not at all in her head like she had intended.

A smug look danced across the man's face. "Oh would you, now?" he taunted.

"I mean Angelica is so small, there's no way I could have missed anyone who actually lives here!" she blurted out much too quickly. Again, a blush was creeping into her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose.

_Stupid stupid stupid..._

He raised one eyebrow at her for a moment, then looked back down at one of the books, unable to hide the pompous look on his face.

"You seem to get quite a bit of enjoyment out of my embarrassment," she muttered.

"I do, do I?" the same gleeful mockery in his tone.

"Yes, I think you do!" she huffed.

"And what would make you say that?"

"That! That thing you just did! That overly confident sneer!"

Now he raised both his eyebrows at her before relaxing into a smirk. He began flipping through a book of fairy tales. She sat there and stewed in her own irritation, letting it fester as she continued to glower at him. He ignored her and they sat in silence.

Suddenly, he shut the book, making her jump. "I believe this is all that I'll be needing."

"Fine. Come back downstairs and we'll ring you up."

She scampered down the stairs, still irked by their brief interaction. Jacob was sitting behind the counter at the cash register. He shot the man a nasty look. He only returned a painfully disingenuous smile, placing the book on the counter. "$16," he said bitterly as he exchanged the book for a handful of cash.

The stranger turned to Charlotte and reached for her hand with his own. Gently, he bowed to kiss it. She looked him, all of her frustration melting away. Jacob's nostrils flared and his chest puffed up.

"Until we meet again."

And with that, he stepped back outside into the cold winter air.


End file.
